“No,” the girl in the dungarees, Charlie, said flatly. “We’re doing a gwara gwara dance to a techno beat. But you haven’t got the skills for that, Sinclair, so you can stand in the back where no one can see you and feel up your own dick like a total loser.”
The other kids sniggered at that, and Sinclair, a tall, floppy-haired, handsome bruiser of a boy, glowered mutely at Charlie.
“So, what’s this dance you’re talking about?” Charity asked, hoping to defuse the tension between the two.
“Oh, you move your arm like this and then your leg picks up the rhythm and you just…” The girl proceeded to demonstrate, and Charity stood gaping while she took off in a rolling, energetic dance that seemed to require a lot of leg strength and stamina. It was amazing how one of her legs would move with seeming complete independence from the rest of her body, before the rest of her limbs joined in. Charity was awestruck by her flexibility and talent. The other kids whooped and clapped and soon most of the them were joining in.
Charity laughed, genuinely impressed and clapped when they stopped and grinned at her.
“I’m sure it’ll be fantastic by the time you have it properly choreographed,” she encouraged them.
“Try it, Mz. Cole,” one of the boys challenged, and Charity laughed again.
“Oh no. I don’t think so.”
They cajoled and pleaded but Charity held firm.
“Hey guys,” Sinclair—he of crotch grabbing infamy—called from the back of the group, clearly not liking it when the attention was off him for too long. “We can add some tricks like this into the routine…”
He climbed onto a wobbly looking chair while he was talking, and Charity’s eyes widened in horror when she understood his intention. She lifted her hand in protest, wanting to physically stop him from doing what she knew he was going to do. But she was too far away from him.
“No don’t—” But her sharp cry fell on deaf ears, and the damned fool boy attempted a backflip off the chair and landed awkwardly on his extended damned fool arm.
He screamed in agony, and Charity winced as she dashed toward him. He was writhing on the floor. His friends already clustered around him watched in helpless, horrified silence as he hugged his arm to his body and tears of pain streamed down his red face.
Charity went into autopilot. She was dimly aware of others rushing toward the injured boy, but she was there first, her eyes assessing the damage with a professionalism she had believed long lost before this moment.
“Sinclair!” She used her firmest voice to get his attention. Probably one Miles would have deemed schoolmarmish. He blinked up at her through his tears, looking shaken and shocked. Charlie was on her knees beside him, and Charity flanked him on the other side, also kneeling next to him.
Charity continued to speak with what she hoped was reassuring authority, keeping her voice calm and level. “Sinclair, I know you’re in pain, but I need you to let me look at it, okay? I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Charlie gently pried his uninjured hand away from his arm and held it in one of hers.
“It’s okay, Sin,” the girl whispered. “Let Mz. Cole look at it. She knows what she’s doing.”
Charlie had no way of knowing if that was true, but the absolute trust in both adolescents’ eyes was staggering and brought a lump to Charity’s throat.
She blinked, telling herself not to be a sentimental ninny and diverted her attention to the boy.
“Can you tell me how you are, sweetheart?” she asked, assessing his ABC’s.
“My arm hurts!” His breathing while fast, was within normal range, and did not appear to be impaired.
She gingerly lifted his right hand, quickly evaluating the temperature and coloration, before checking his radial pulse. It was elevated, probably from the shock and pain, but there did not appear to be any immediate signs of vascular damage or impaired circulation.
“I’m going to have to examine it, to see if it’s broken. I won’t do anything that makes you more uncomfortable, but I have to see if we need to immobilize it before the ambulance gets here.”
That reminded her.
“Hey, did someone call an ambulance?” She looked up and realized that everybody was crowded around them in silent concern. Greyson was clutching a first aid kit, Sam was on his phone, and he nodded in response to her question.
And Miles…Miles was here. Hovering close by and silently watching through narrowed eyes. Why was he here? Shouldn’t he be at puppy school or whatever it was called?
She shook herself, she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by him right now, the boy needed her.
She ran expert hands over Sinclair’s arm. It had been a while since she had done this, but the steps were comfortingly familiar, and she knew exactly what she was doing. The boy was tense and trembling, and clearly expecting more pain from her touch.
“Can you tell me exactly where it hurts?”
“My sh-shoulder, M-Miss.”
Miss. As if she were one of his teachers. So polite, despite his pain. She wouldn’t have pegged him as a gentleman. Not after the crude first impression he had made. Her hands lightly skimmed up to his shoulder, and she made a soft sound of affirmation beneath her breath, when her touch confirmed what her eyes had already told her. Anterior dislocation of the right shoulder.
“You’ve dislocated it. I don’t think you’ve broken anything and there doesn’t appear to be any nerve damage. Don’t worry, the doctors will manipulate it back into place when you get to the emergency room.”
Ordinarily, Charity would have popped it back herself, but with this many eyes on her, she knew it would raise more questions than she was ready to answer.
“Will it hurt, Miss?” Sinclair’s lovely blue gaze pleaded mutely with her to say it wouldn’t. It was sweet how he had regressed to an insecure little boy, looking for reassurance from someone in perceived authority.
She smiled at him. “It’s nothing like you’ve seen on television. They have to X-ray your arm to be sure nothing’s broken, and if it’s all fine, they’ll give you something for the pain and ease it back into place as carefully as possible. You’ll have to rest it for a few weeks and after that you’ll be right as rain. With a cool story to tell your buddies.”
“Don’t think so, Miss. They all saw m-me jump off the chair like a twat—” He winced. “Sorry, Miss, I shouldn’t have used that w-word, but…”
“That’s okay, you get a pass right now, because you’re in pain.” She looked at the tall, grim man silently holding the first aid kit and gestured toward it. “Greyson, could I have that, please?”
He handed it over, and she opened the box to see if it contained anything she could use to make Sinclair more comfortable.
“Aah, here we go,” she said, with a satisfied grunt, removing a sling from its sterilized packaging. “Let’s immobilize this arm until the paramedics get here.”
She helped him ease his arm into the sling, keeping his movements small and excruciatingly slow.
She had just finished when the EMTs slammed into the community center.
“You’ll be fine,” she reassured the young man, who was still desperately hanging onto Charlie’s hand. She stepped away and allowed the EMTs to take over and watched as the boy was ministered to and lifted onto a gurney, before being bustled out of the community center. Charlie was still by his side, and the other teens trailed behind them shouting out words of encouragement.
All other activities had pretty much ceased during the emergency, and to her extreme chagrin, Charity found herself surrounded by people who wanted to thank her and pat her on her back. Happily, everybody soon dissipated into smaller groups, still talking excitably while packing up their things.
She picked up her towel from where she had dropped it on the floor and, on extremely reluctant feet, made her way to where Miles was now chatting with Sam and Greyson.
Greyson’s face lit up in a rare grin.
“That was pretty goddamned
impressive, Cole,” he said. High praise indeed from the usually aloof man.
“Very,” Sam concurred. “You a moonlight as a doctor or something?”
“Or something.” She shrugged nonchalantly. Sam and Greyson were both discreet enough to drop the subject when they sensed someone didn’t want to talk about something. She turned her attention to Miles, who still hadn’t spoken. “Uh…ready to go? Is Stormy in the car?”
“I told George to take her home.”
The statement confused her. “But…what about us?”
“He took an Uber. He’ll feed Stormy and make sure she’s settled for the evening and then come back in his own car. I’ll drive us home later. I thought we could grab something to eat.”
“I’m hardly dressed to eat out,” she pointed out beneath her breath, casting a self-conscious glance at the two other men. They were both feigning avid interest in the walls and floors…the ceiling. Seriously, their eavesdropping would be less overt if they just pretended to chat with each other.
“You look great,” Miles said, giving her an appreciative once-over. Her abruptly sweaty palms and elevated breathing had very little to do with the extreme tension of the last twenty minutes and everything to do with the sensual light in his eyes. God, that look should be outlawed.
She gathered her scattered thoughts enough to protest, “I’m definitely not fit to eat out in public after my earlier workout.”
“Well, why not join Lia and me for dinner tonight then?” Sam chimed in, proving that he’d totally and unashamedly been listening in on their conversation. “You don’t have to dress up to hang out with us.”
“You can’t just invite us without clearing it with your fiancée,” Charity said, appalled. Definitely not wanting to do that. A restaurant would be preferable to the intimacy of a couples’ dinner.
“Hey, sunshine!” Sam’s voice traveled above the noise of the still babbling people—clearly this had been more excitement than they had seen in a while—and caught the attention of the slender, pretty woman in yoga pants and a sports tank. She had been instructing the mommy and baby yoga class and was chatting with a few of the lingering moms. Lia MacGregor gave her fiancé an exasperated look, clearly not impressed with the shouting.
“Can Miles and Charity come to dinner tonight?”
She flashed him a smile and thumbs up before continuing her chat with the women.
“See? It’s fine,” Sam said, with a grin. “Let me stow the equipment, and you guys can follow us home.”
“You sure it’s okay?” Miles asked.
“Yeah, we could braai or something. That way Lia won’t have to do too much. You and Clara want to join us, Grey?”
“I don’t think so. She’s cutting a molar and a bit moody. She won’t be good company.” Clara was his eighteen-month-old daughter, and he watched her every night while his wife was at the restaurant. “And my brother is popping over for a couple of brews and some pool. Rain check? Maybe on a weekend sometime when Olivia is off?”
“Sounds good.”
Sam and Grey excused themselves to stow the equipment, leaving Charity to glare at Miles, who was still giving her a leisurely once over.
“This is going to be uncomfortable,” Charity pointed out, from between gritted teeth and that drew his wandering gaze up to her face.
“Why do you say that?”
“Miles, I’m your housekeeper. I shouldn’t be having dinner with you and your peers.”
“Well,” he said, shoving his balled fists into his trouser pockets, ruining the cut of the well-fitted slacks. “That’s some medieval bullshit right there. Stop being such a snob.”
“But this is really weird, they know I work for you.”
“Technically, Brand works for me too,” he said, with frustrating male logic.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“It just is.”
“Brand and Lia are your friends, I’m the interloper.”
“Oh my God, that’s so untrue. I barely know her.” Charity moved until her body was brushing against his and breathed the urgent whisper directly into his ear. Brand was returning, and she didn’t want him to hear her words.
She instantly regretted the move, when Miles hooked his arm around her waist to keep her in position. He turned his head until his mouth was right beside her ear, and his whispered response feathered against her sensitive skin and ruffled the fine hairs at her temple. “Well, then it’s high time you get to know her.”
“Why?” she fired back indignantly.
“Why not?” This time the infuriating practicality left her mute. Because she honestly had no answer to that question.
He grinned and planted a quick kiss on her nose before relinquishing his hold on her waist.
“We’re in this together, you know how awful I am with people.” He kept saying that, but Charity had thus far seen little evidence of his so-called ineptitude with people. “And I’m counting on you to stop me from making an arse of myself.”
Charity sighed huffily and pasted a smile on her face, mentally preparing herself for a long evening of painful small talk.
“I’m so happy that you decided to join us for dinner tonight, Charity,” Lia said, her sincerity evident in the warmth of her voice. The women were in the kitchen preparing some salads to accompany the barbecued meat that the men were grilling on the patio. A task that Charity did not envy in the icy temperatures. The kindergarten teacher was still in her yoga gear, her dark hair up in a high ponytail. It made Charity—in her sweats and with her hair tied back in a messy bun—feel less gross.
“Thank you for the invitation. I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience,” she murmured politely, and Lia smiled brightly.
“Are you joking? Myself and a few others have been wanting to invite you to hang out for absolute ages, but Sam advised us to back off because you’re shy and he suggested easing you in to the idea first. I didn’t think his idea of ‘easing’ you into it would take literal years.”
“I may have been a little reclusive.” Charity was pleasantly blown away by the knowledge that Sam Brand had kept the over eager citizens of Riversend—including his own fiancée—at bay. It confirmed the suspicion that he was more aware of Charity’s background than she had wanted anyone to be.
Lia handed her a cucumber and knife. “Slice this, will you? There’s nothing wrong with keeping to yourself, but if you want a friend, or friends, there are so many of us who would love to get to know you.”
“I know.” Charity shot the other woman a quick smile, before refocusing on her assigned task. “I’m not really shy. But Sam was right to a certain extent…I wasn’t ready to be around people.”
Lia pursed her lips as she considered Charity’s words and then nodded.
“Fair enough. And do you think you’re ready now?”
“Maybe.” For some reason, despite there being absolutely no pressure or judgment from the other woman, or perhaps because of it, she felt compelled to explain herself more. “My husband died a couple of weeks before I moved here three years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” The words were out before she could stop them. But the ones that followed were voluntarily offered. “He wasn’t a good man. And I didn’t want to watch my family mourn him.”
It was getting easier to admit that. Lia nodded again.
“I’m sorry that was intense, wasn’t it?” Charity said with a grimace, and the other woman squeezed her forearm reassuringly.
“I get it. I was engaged to a complete a-hole a few years ago. Possibly a different kind of jerk to your husband, but he wasn’t a good man either.”
The lack of probing questions and the unflinching acceptance of Charity’s claim that her husband had been a bad man was humbling to say the least, and strengthened her resolve to tell her family of everything she had endured at Blaine’s hands. If a complete stranger could be so accepting of her truth, then she owed the same opportu
nity to the people who loved her.
She cleared her throat and searched for a way to change the subject. “So how long have you and Sam been engaged?”
“A couple of years. He’s been pushing to get married, but I’m happy for now. We love each other, there’s no rush. And what’s going on between you and Miles?”
Charity felt her face going red and nearly choked on the slice of cucumber she had popped into her mouth a second before.
“N-nothing,” she managed, once she had regulated her breathing. “He’s my boss.”
“He clearly wants to be more. You should have seen the way he stared at you when you were talking with the kids, right before the accident.”
Charity wanted to probe, she was keen to know exactly how Miles had been staring at her, but her natural reticence stayed her tongue, and Lia grinned knowingly.
“I mean, I thought the way Sam looks at me is intense, but wow. I’m surprised you don’t have scorch marks up and down your body because it was haaaaawt.”
“We’ve grown closer these last few weeks.” Charity was horrified to find herself divulging so much private information, but Lia was so easy to talk to. Or maybe it was because it had been way too long since Charity had had anything resembling a female friend to confide in.
“Good for you.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little…inappropriate? I’m his housekeeper.”
“Please, most wives and live-in girlfriends are unpaid housekeepers. Kudos to you for making a living out of it. Does the situation feel inappropriate?”
“I feel like it should.”
“But does it?”
“Not really. I’ve worked for him for three years and never thought of him in that way…until one day I did.”
“And do you feel taken advantage of?”
“Far from it.”
“Then I think you should give yourself permission to enjoy it. To enjoy him.”
Charity wasn’t quite sure what to say in response to that and appearing to understand her discomfort, Lia changed the subject. “So, you were pretty phenomenal back there. With the boy. You handled it almost…professionally?”
The Best Next Thing Page 21